The Absence of the Spoken Word
by ThePotterMalfoyProblem
Summary: Bilbo notices something odd about how Fili and Kili interact, Thorin notices Bilbo's interest. An unusual study of the Durin family dynamics and a look at the youngest company members childhood. Non-shipping fic, just good old family interaction.


**A/N:** _This is kind of angsty, was not betaed, and was finished at 3 am. I just needed to get it out of my system. As always, characters not mine. I only borrowed them to turn them into broken wrecks. I will return them in due time._

He had noticed it first on the night they had arrived at his home. Hands flashed quickly between the two youngest, punctuated by minute nods or shakes of the head, with no spoken word breaking the conversation. As loud as they were with the others, the two rarely spoke to each other, which was odd to Bilbo, seeing how close the brothers were.

It seemed rude to ask the two outright, so instead he talked with other members of the company, curiosity urging him on. However, he was met with sad eyes and shakes of the head, "It's private" and "Not my tale to tell". Gradually, the hobbit stopped asking, and started observing, making notes in a small journal he'd brought along.

Fili and Kili's fingers flashed at lightning speed, almost too fast to catch, but over time Bilbo noticed themes. The short, light taps and fluid finger sweeps that accompanied pranks, the wide gesticulations that followed battle, the slower motions that seemed to be signs of affection. Bilbo's favorites, however, were the fast, rather clipped motions made behind member's backs, accompanied by laughing eyes and matching smirks, no doubt a joke at someone else's expense.

But Bilbo didn't ask. It seemed too private. So he continued to take observing notes, trying to puzzle out a meaning.

It was like this Thorin found him after the eagle flight. The company had elected to camp on the Carrock to lick their wounds and regain their energy. Bilbo sat off to the side, in a patch of sunlight, journal still miraculously intact. He was contentedly jotting down notes when a shadow blocked the sunlight and a gruff voice interrupted his thoughts.

"So I see our Burglar has taken a shine to Iglishmek."

The startled squeak that Bilbo made was completely undignified, but he recovered quickly. "I suppose I am, if that's the manner of speaking your nephews favor."

"I know you have been asking around," said the dwarf as he sat down next to Bilbo, leaning against a tall rock. He sighed and pulled out a pipe from somewhere in his coat. "It's not a pleasant tale. The boys don't even remember most of it, too young for their memory to fully take hold.

"What they are speaking is known as Iglishmek. It's a language of hand signs invented for use in the mines, where it's too loud to hear even the loudest shout. Dwarflings learn it as soon as their hands start punching at the air; it's as natural as breathing to many when they are young. Unless one spends their life in the Mines, though, it usually falls out of use by the time you learn to speak aloud."

Thorin paused and took a couple puffs on his pipe, blowing out large rings of smoke that floated off into the growing evening. "As you have noticed, that is not the case with my nephews. In fact, my sister, Dis, and I were afraid Fili would never speak aloud. You see, the boys were there the night their father died.

"Kili had just turned 10, Fili, 15. Kili was barely out of swaddling and Fili had just started to talk coherently. Dis frequently helped as a midwife and had been called away that morning to aid in a particularly difficult birthing in the next settlement. She wouldn't be back for two days. Mazan, Dis's husband, worked odd jobs for the local men, repairing their homes and mending their tools. It was hard, demeaning work, and he was glad to take the day off and spend it with his sons.

"I was the one who found them that night, having promised Dis I would check in with them, and I can only guess as to what happened. I suppose one of the local men was unsatisfied with Mazan's work, or thought that as a dwarf he would be wealthy. Whatever it was, it got my brother-in-law killed. Fili and Kili had barricaded themselves underneath their cot, voices long since gone with their screams, or so I thought. Mazan…" Thorin stopped his narration and swallowed hard, hands curling into fists in his lap.

Bilbo could see what was coming, horror washing over his face. "You don't have to tell me," he stammered out.

"No, I don't have to," said Thorin slowly. "But I want to tell you. I want you to understand why I am the way I am."

The hobbit recognized then that the tale was not just spurred on by his interest in Iglishmek. It held a deeper meaning for the dwarf, a record of distrust and dislike for those not of his own kin. And, in a way, it was an apology for his earlier behavior. He nodded for Thorin to proceed, steeling himself against the visions the words brought to mind.

"Had I not known it was Mazan, I never would have recognized the corpse. He had been beaten until he was beyond death, by possibly more than one attacker. We never did discover who, the local human settlements denied any knowledge of the attack. The boys hadn't seen who it was, only dark shapes against the doorway before they huddled beneath the cot.

"Dis was beside herself with grief upon her return, and we didn't know how deeply it had affected the boys until days afterward. At first, we just thought they had screamed themselves silent, that they could not talk. We signed to them in Iglishmek, hoping they would return to speaking aloud. It was Fili who finally told us the truth behind their silence. Their father, may he rest easy in Mahal's courts, had sensed something coming and told the boys that no matter what happened, they were not to make a sound until he told them it was safe.

"Fili knew that he could speak, that their father would never tell them anything again, but Kili was too young. He didn't understand. To see the horror of death at such a young age scarred him in a way that could never be mended. So he remained silent, awaiting the day his father would tell him he could speak again. Fili, ever the loyal older brother, remained silent with him, for no one should remain in such a lonely state. Or so he explained to me. Instead of speaking aloud, the two used Iglishmek, quickly becoming more proficient that even some of the miners.

"Dis recovered slowly from the untimely death of her husband, and we thought the boys would too. What we didn't expect was how long it would take for the trauma to pass. It was nearly a decade before Kili spoke aloud, and a few years more for him to speak regularly. Even now he has trouble communicating aloud, and will revert to signing when conveying difficult ideas. Fili is slightly better at speaking, and will translate for the rest of us, usually."

Thorin smiled fondly in the direction of his nephews, who were n the other side of the Carrock, sharing a pipe as they sat with their shoulders touching. For once they were still; content to be quiet in body as well as voice.

"They are your children now, aren't they?" said Bilbo quietly.

"Yes, as close to sons as I will ever have. I helped Dis raise them, and I thank Mahal every day that they were not lost with their father." Thorin stood, tapping his pipe ash out and crushing the last of the embers with his boot. As he turned to go, he briefly brought a fist to his chest. "Thank you, Bilbo, for saving me so I can see them another day."

The hobbit sat against his rock long after the dwarf had joined the others at the fire, pondering the tale he had been told and staring at the distant stars as if they held a key to some dark secret.

The next day, Fili and Kili taught him a few signs of Isglishmek, the first being a conveyance of gratitude and debt manifested through a fist placed over one's heart.

**End Note:**_ Review to be counted among the trusted minions._


End file.
